You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
Up to age 11, when her father vanishes in an avalanche halfway around the globe, Cassia takes her close-knit extended family for granted. It’s the way life’s supposed to be, right?
And then? It’s not.
Central to my newest novel, What’s Left, is the question of just what makes a family. Is it Mommy, Daddy, and the kids? Or something much more vital?
In “Golden Age of Grease,” the second chapter of my new novel, What’s Left, I compress a background history of three generations that lead up to Cassia herself. Thanks to her father’s collected photographs and her aunt Nita’s guidance, she and her best friend forever, cousin Sandra, get a sense of what so attracted him to the entire family. What he saw when he arrived was his vision of an ideal hippie commune working around Carmichael’s, their landmark restaurant. Man, was he in for a surprise!
In my new novel, What’s Left, her great-grandparents parlay a hot dog shop into the purchase of a burger-and-fries joint at the edge of campus. Carmichael’s is a local landmark, even before her family takes over. And then they start buying up neighboring properties.
Her parents’ generation boldly sets out to enlarge on that base. They even buy out a dusty textbook store next door without quite knowing how it will fit into their business model.
Nita Zapitapoulos is a special character for me. Long before she becomes Cassia’s aunt, in my new novel What’s Left, she appears in all four of my Hippie Trails volumes as a guardian angel and colleague for Cassia’s future father. She also appears obliquely in notes to my Hometown News novel as a journalism professor.
The character was loosely inspired by a sidekick’s descriptions of the girlfriend he’d come to visit. I may have even met her at the time, although I’ll confess she wasn’t of Greek descent at all. I wish I still had the letters with his lavish descriptions of what so attracted him in his whirlwind adventures. She and I may have even passed each other in the same newsroom while working in different departments; I, though, have never been a photojournalist.
A few years ago, far from where all this took place, a mental connection flashed for me during a conversation after a committee session. “Did you know …?” Yes, she remembered him. We’d both lost contact with him decades ago.
In real life, she’s quite different from the impressions that prompted my fictional character. Still, from everything I see now, I’d say they’re both pretty amazing.
Continue reading “THERE ARE GOOD REASONS I KEEP STICKING WITH NITA”
Centering the story of my new novel, What’s Left, in a Greek-American family required me to consider just what each member might have undergone in the years from arriving in the New World up to her father’s introduction to her mother. (Or more accurately, before her father-to-be meets her mother-to-be.)
While creating a suitable scenario presented a fascinating challenge, I did have to start wondering just why Cassia herself – or the typical young adult reader, for that matter – would have any interest in such ancient history.
I hope a hint of scandal helps, along with a few other twists, before their curiosity kicks in.
~*~
Much of the novel revolves around Cassia’s prolonged examination of old family photos – images that might amuse younger viewers or even intrigue them. Think of looking at high school yearbooks from earlier decades. Yes, those geeky hairstyles are real. As for the dress?
Any collection of family photos is bound to include birthday parties. What’s your favorite cake for the occasion?
In my newest novel, What’s Left, the common image of a nuclear family is punctured when her father vanishes in an avalanche halfway around the globe when she’s 11. Daddy’s no longer present in the family picture. Only her mother, two older brothers, and Cassia herself. (Plus her aunts, uncles, and close cousins, who completely alter the picture.)
Her obsession to rediscover him brings her face to face with much more than her loss.
Large or small, family-owned businesses stand apart from other company models. Upward mobility into management may be limited for non-family, for one thing, and succession from one generation to the next can impose special hurdles – few family-owned enterprises survive into the fourth or fifth generations. And then inheritance tax issues can hit heavily, if key players fail to prepare properly. And that’s before we get into sibling rivalries and family spats.
On the other hand, they can be more flexible in aiming at long-range results or adapting to change.
In my new novel, What’s Left, these all play into the story. Her family isn’t like other employers, for sure. And it’s primed for exciting big growth.
As I viewed photographs of the kind of Victorian house her family would gravitate toward, having a round tower at one corner seemed natural – especially one capped by a pointy roof commonly called a witch’s hat. The idea of living in a tall-ceilinged attic, with its air of private retreat, holds romantic appeal anyway, but having it open out into a circle room with views overlooking the street in both directions strikes me as a plus. How about you?
Thanks to everyone who responded to my earlier invitation for comments regarding a few possible covers for my newest novel.
The survey ended in mixed results and prompted some heated in-house discussion, ultimately sending me back to the drawing board for a more compelling design.
Just what do we want as a cover, anyway? Are people’s faces a help or a distraction? Does a jacket work best if it somehow reflects a scene in the story, as my earlier mock-ups attempted to suggest? Or is reaching for a less constrained, emotional reaction more effective?
As you see, I’ve opted for the later. Here the image invokes a sense of being broken out from a protected shell and falling through space. It’s also appropriate for a family that owns a restaurant – food being a theme running throughout the story. Will this cover encourage a browser to open the book to discover, in effect, just what happens to the yolk? Where it will land?
That, of course, is my goal. To see if it fits, go to Smashwords, where you can order your own Advance Reading Copy for free. The offer will expire after 90 days, when the first edition comes out at $4.95, so act now.
Your early reactions will be most welcome in preparing for that release.
he could die now
flattened by wheels
electrocuted, biting a live wire
poisoned
or simple disease
or drown
all the complications, amassed
* * *
somewhere, in the limbs
what had riled him so early?
Blue Jay
squawking
could be confused
for squirrels
(What was the opera, anyway? Certainly not Cinderella
with her matching fur slippers)
unlike Cardinal
or those who keep a steady pace
each sunrise
each species how much bite off and chew
bury the rest now in a fury neighbors gain consciousness
take aim if they can brush the turret
* * *
Was she more rabbit or possum?
“Oh, but possums are meaner – they have more teeth
and they’re sharp” – well matched, in the end
* * *
knowing all the same they’ll be back
dawning alarm not of squirrels but outraged jays
surround a marauding crow
every jay within a mile or two assembles for attack
one after another, they dart at a wincing intruder
that finally departs, offended
already crows lay siege to a mockingbird nest
they pestered before destruction
try as you will, you can’ prevent much
even when striving for balance
still, you undertake what you can
alarmed, yes, and full of frustration,
load and fire the kid’s super-saturation water gun
startle a few squirrels raiding the bird feeder
knowing, all the same, they’ll be back
yet hoping he can prevent them
* * *
stripping the black walnut tree
after the strawberries and blueberries
all in their brief season
* * *
from the instrument he carries across thin snow
duty said nothing children, you know
domestic matters and adventures
of mice and squirrels and the manor
gingerbread, the squirrels and rabbits love to nibble
* * *
before the endless domestic encounters
Snakes in the basement.
Bees streaming
from the barn’s
loose siding.
I’ve lived many places:
I’ve lived nowhere
but the wind
or the workplace
until now.
* * *
keep the shell healthy for all within
he once thought, ignoring the empty fruit basket
he would learn there are jobs a man does
as if that, in itself, is sufficient qualification
what does he know now the world’s shrinking
save for trash removal? tell him, then, the eternity of hell
is different from the eternity of paradise
one just won’t end the other seems a flash
it’s no different than becoming conscious
abed they listen in winter night scratching inside old house walls
all the same she rolls toward him
he could depart as an old man baffled by suspenders to his pants
while his wife’s away having her hair styled
all along, his lady has been a holy terror as much as any
holy mother even so, they always get envelopes in the mail
* * *
he could be the squirrel at the bay window
or that whistle
Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To read the full set of squirrelly poems, click here.
